Stay
by Najooj
Summary: She only came back to Lima because her ex is certifiably insane, but she's definitely NOT staying; not for anything, not for anyone. Not even the mohawked mechanic that still manages to make her hear flutter and her knees weak, even after all these years.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the Glee characters.

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><p><em>I can't believe I'm actually back<em>, Rachel thought, with no small amount of distaste, as she peered out of the window and idly watched the houses fly by. Lima looked _exactly_ the same way as she'd left it – quiet, typical, frustratingly _normal_. She wouldn't doubt that everyone she'd left behind were exactly the same – just older, probably married with 2.3 children and a dog. That's what she figured Finn and Quinn's lives were like, at least. She'd heard from Kurt that they'd gotten married a few years back; no doubt they'd already fulfilled at least the children requirement. She wasn't entirely sure what Quinn's position on dogs were. She had no idea what was going on with any of her other Glee club members, Kurt being the only one she'd kept in touch with. He was still with Blaine, which, call her cynical, was still surprising because she'd never figured something from high school would last, especially since Kurt had moved to New York with her and Blaine had never seemed to have any plans to even _go_ there. But Blaine _had_ followed him and it was all very romantic and wonderful and – she was being cynical again. She chided herself for that. Just because _she_ hadn't been having much luck in the romance department didn't mean everyone else's love lives were doomed. She'd tried the dating thing, you see. And for a while it had worked. And then it didn't. Luka, the supposedly supportive ex-boyfriend, started getting annoyed with her constant shows, with her fame, saying she never had time for him anymore. He started believing that she was sleeping with her costars (as if she would _ever_! She knew better than anyone that having an intimate relationship with someone you worked with was completely unprofessional, not to mention could completely _ruin_ the production) and, well, it got to a point where she knew she had to end it and pretty much kicked him to the curb.

She'd started to become fed up with him anyway. He had this awful habit of not picking up after himself, not to mention his strange tendency to walk around _nude_ much of the time and, while what had been left of Rachel's prudence when she'd been in high school had completely dissipated when she came to New York, it was awkward to bring friends over, only to walk in on your boyfriend in his birthday suit. Suffice it to say that Rachel was grateful to finally have a genuine excuse to boot him out.

Unfortunately, he hadn't taken kindly to it, which was what she was doing _here_, back in Lima, Ohio. See, despite his frustrations, Luka still hadn't wanted to the break up. He was, in layman's term, a squatter. In other words, he'd been counting on _her_ to provide for him – food, shelter, the whole enchilada. So, he'd started following her. Calling her. Writing her e-mails. Standing under her window. It was all harmless (although quite creepy), but she made the mistake of telling Kurt and he, in true Diva fashion, flipped out, and then told her fathers, who insisted that she call the authorities and get her butt to Lima, where Luka wouldn't be able to find her. While she couldn't argue with the latter (no one knew that the not-quite-famous Broadway star Rachel Berry came from _Lima_, and she wanted to keep it that way), she insisted that she was fine and Luka wouldn't hurt a fly.

That is, until she came back to her apartment one night and found that he'd broken in and was lounging, nude as the day he was born, on _her couch_, eating _her food_ and looking like he owned the place. When she'd told him to get out (in not-so-polite intones), he'd gotten angry and advanced on her, mouth gaping wide to wail out an argument and finger stabbing in her direction and, well, she wasn't quite sure what had come over her, all that she knew was she had no interest what-so-ever in what Luka Everett had to say and he was _seriously_ started to disturb her and she'd sort of swung her purse at his head and knocked him unconscious. She hadn't done it on _purpose_, of course. It had just sort of…_happened_.

And then she called security to remove him from her apartment, booked the first flight out of New York to Lima and was on the plane before he could regain consciousness and come after her. Not that she thought he would actually cause her _harm_ (maybe just for a moment there when he'd been striding towards her like that; she could have _sworn_ that was a crazy glint in his eyes and she _knew_ what a crazy glint looked like because she'd seen it in her own eyes previously, but hers had been out of sheer _determination_, thank you very much). She called Kurt from the airport and explained to him what happened, rubbing her temples to stave off a growing migraine as she suffered through his "I knew it!"s and "I told you so!"s. She then called her agent, Maggie, and explained the whole situation (and had to suffer through reprimands about "not telling her sooner", but thankfully Maggie was understanding and told her she'd deal with everything back in New York). The _third_ phone call (and possibly the most painful) was made to her dads. She kept it short, claiming that they were about to take off and she had to switch off her cell phone (which was a little white lie, but it was just easier to quickly tell them she was coming to Lima due to previously discussed matters and then hang up before she had to listen to them be over-protective and chiding. Needless to say, by the time she'd switched off her cell phone, her headache had grown into a fully-fledged migraine.

It was an incredibly long flight.

And now here she was, back in Lima, the place she'd sworn she would never step foot in again. There was a _reason_ why she flew out her dads to come and see her in New York and not the other way round. The car came to a sudden stop, snapping Rachel out of her day dream. She straightened up and pushed her chocolate brown hair behind her ears, stepped out of the car, and hesitated for a few seconds to stare at the house – _her_ house. Or, her fathers' house. It was still exactly the same. Everything about this place was _exactly the same_ and she didn't know _why_, because she'd expected as much, but it was still so _damn frustrating_.

"Welcome home, bunny," her daddy said, pulling her close and dropping a kiss on her forehead. Almost immediately, Rachel forced her expression to melt into a more pleasant one, knowing her fathers were thrilled to have their little girl back in their midst again. She wondered if they still hung onto the hope that they could convince her to give up her dreams in New York and stay here with them, settle down, find a job, get married, the whole enchilada. But she was _not_ Quinn Fabray, set out to find her own Finn Hudson. She _refused_ to fit into that role. She hadn't wanted to be tied down by a small town before, and she certainly wasn't going to start now. Still, she couldn't say any of that out loud, so she merely brushed off the hopeful expressions on her fathers' faces, grabbed one of her trolley-bags, reminiscent of her high-school bag, although there was a significant difference in their size, and marched into the house she'd abandoned so long ago. She wasn't entirely sure how long she would stay here, but she knew one thing for sure:

Rachel Berry was _not_ here to stay.

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><p><strong>AN: **Ooookay this is my first multi-chaptered fanfic on here. HOPEFULLY this is one I'll stick with since I have a tendency to get, uhm, sort of distracted with ideas and stuff. Anyway, Noah makes an appearance in the next chapter!


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Fact: I know next to nothing about cars. I barely even know how to drive one. Just for future reference, heh.

Also, I still don't own any of the characters, etc, etc.

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><p>Two days. She had been here <em>two days<em> and already she wanted to crawl back to the comfort of New York, with its bustling streets, pollution, noise and all. Okay, so she might have been exaggerating a tad (a lot), because Lima really wasn't _that_ bad, it was just that she no longer felt like she _belonged_ here. This place, which had been her home for the first eighteen or so years of her life, no longer felt like her home. She was a visitor in her own town and that made her uncomfortable and slightly more eager to return to New York. She even went as far as to call her agent and ask if she _could_, only to be shot down when she was told that Luka was nowhere to be found – apparently they were actually looking to arrest him, since breaking and entering was a crime and all. Comforting, really, that there was someone out there taking care of her business. She just hoped that she found him _quickly_, so that she could get away as soon as possible. She gave her dads her show face, though, of course, all wide grins and "I missed you"s and "It's good to be home"s that were only half sincere (and she said half because she'd genuinely missed her parents). It was on the third day that she decided to stop avoiding the unavoidable and paid McKinley a visit. Just as she'd expected, everything was still the same. A boy reminiscent of Karofsky strode past her with a slushie and, as silly as it was, she still automatically winced and cringed, but she wasn't the unfortunate soul who was hit this time, but rather another girl who let out an unhappy cry. Rachel felt a pang, but she didn't think it was one of nostalgia. You were only nostalgic when it came to the good things, right?

Mentally shaking herself and continuing on her way, she visited the principal's office, not all too surprised to find Principal Figgins still behind the same old oak desk. They exchanged pleasantries, and she told him she couldn't stay too long to avoid an awkward silence. The same happened with Miss Pillsbury, although the latter informed her she was no married to Will Schuester (big surprise, it had only been a matter of time, even Rachel had taken time away from her own world to notice what was going on between the two faculty members). After congratulating her, Rachel went in search of Will, purposefully interrupting his Spanish class because she was afraid spending too much time with her old teacher (mentor) would bring up too many memories and if there was anything Rachel was trying to avoid, it was too many memories cropping up on her. She tried to ignore the brightness in his eyes when he told her he'd been keeping up with her news, told herself that she was only blinking rapidly because there was something in the air when he told her how proud of her he was, ignoring the voice that basked in it, that told her how she'd waited years to hear those words leave Mr. Schue's lips. "Finn's the football coach now," he told her before he went back to his classroom and she nodded in acknowledgement. Instead of going down to the coach's office, or even the football field, she left McKinley.

That was enough reconnecting for one day, she didn't quite think she'd be able to handle seeing her ex-boyfriend just yet. Maybe tomorrow. Or maybe not. Who knows? Lima was reasonably small (so much smaller than New York), so she was bound to bump into him _sometime_. Just, hopefully not today.

Trying not to sigh out loud, Rachel climbed into her dad's car and started it up, deciding that she'd simply return home and rehearse the lines for an audition of the Broadway production of _The Little Mermaid_. An audition she might not even catch because she might still be stuck _here_, she realized with a little groan. Fighting the urge to bang her forehead against the steering wheel (she'd rather _not_ end up with a swollen bump and/or bruise), she peeled out of McKinley High's parking lot. She'd been driving for less than five minutes when the engine started spluttering and generally making a rukus (excuse her for not knowing car terms, her vernacular did not extend that far) and was that smoke coming out of the hood?

"This _cannot_ be happening," she muttered.

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><p>It was ironic that, out of all the predictions Quinn Fabray had made, it was the one about him being a Lima loser that had come true. He didn't end up knocking anyone else up, he wasn't flipping burgers, wasn't a waiter at Breadstix sticks, but he was definitely still a Lima loser. Maybe "ironic" wasn't the right word. He liked to think of it more as <em>reallyfuckingannoying<em>, but that was more of a personal preference than anything. Everyone knew Noah Puckerman's choice of words left a lot to be desired. Point was, here he was, stuck in Lima, just like Quinn said he would. But it wasn't like she had it any better, did she? They were all stuck here. All of them. The only people he knew who'd actually escaped this town were Berry, Hummel and Hummel's boyfriend. Good for them. Quite honestly, most of the time? Puck really didn't mine. He didn't. Life here wasn't _horrible_. Oh, he was sure the three were having the time of their lives in New York or wherever they'd gone off to (he knew it was New York, but whatever, big deal, he'd heard Mr. Schue talking about them once and he might have retained the information, he liked to know shit, okay?), but he was kind-of happy here in Lima. His mother's complaining about him settling with a "nice, Jewish girl" aside, it was nice. Comfortable. And his job at the garage wasn't bad. Burt was a pretty cool guy, having taken him under his wing after Kurt had left and it became obvious that Puck's grades weren't going to get him into college (not that he'd been very interested in the first place – he wasn't exactly academically inclined). So now he was his intern-slash-partner and, in his free time, practiced his guitar and occasionally performed in little coffee shops. The latter because maybe he has hope that he'll be able to make it like Rachel, Kurt and Blaine and maybe he doesn't have to stay a Lima loser forever. Yeah, he still has dreams. So what? _Dreams really do come true_. Wasn't that what they always said? It was from that song, anyway, that he'd sung with Mr. Schue —well, anyway. He wasn't too hung up on it.

At least, he tried not to be.

Like he said, life was pretty swell here. Routenic, sometimes, but he was _comfortable_ with it. At least, he was _used_ to it. He woke up early in the morning, had his daily coffee (that tasted like shit because it was the crappy instant stuff that was basically equivalent to dirt) and then went to the garage, where he worked for however many hours Burt needed him for that day, and then, at night, he would either have a gig to perform or he'd go out for a drink or two (or ten) with his drinking buddies; also known as Finn, Mike and Santana. Did he mention how nice and comfortable life was here?

_Yeah_.

It's a pretty slow day at the garage today. He's taking his sweet time fixing Brittany's car - mostly because he still hasn't quite figured out what was wrong with it. Knowing Brittany, she might have stuffed gummy bears in the exhaust pipe or something (who even gave her a license? Seriously? He loved Britt to death, but Brittany Pierce on the road was scarier than any drunk driver). He was under the car when he suddenly hears someone clearing their – it sounded female, so _her_ - throat primly. Pushing himself out from under the car, he slowly let his eyes travel upwards, starting with the tiny, sandal-clad feet, up smooth, shapely legs which were, unfortunately, impeded by a floaty knee-length skirt, and then a white peasant shirt, and then finally a face which he recognized almost immediately as his eyes locked onto her wide, brown ones, the surprise in them reflecting his own, and he sat up quickly, managing to bang his forehead against the bumper of the car. Immediately, a string of curses left his lips and he struggled to get out from under the vehicle, holding his now-throbbing head. _Smooth, Puckerman. Real smooth._

"Noah, are you okay?" she exclaimed, and he felt her hand, small and smooth, against his shoulder. He shrugged it off and clambered to his feet, blinking rapidly and attempting to regain his bearings, but he had a feeling his incapability to do so had less to do with the bump on his head and more to do with the fact that Rachel Berry was actually _here_ standing in his (well, Burt's) garage. Here, in _Lima_, the place she'd sworn she'd never return to the last time they'd spoken.

"Yeah just – shit. Berry." He shook his head in disbelief. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he asked before he could stop himself, and then rubbed a hand over his Mohawk sheepishly. "Sorry, I mean – just –" He shrugged his broad shoulders and then raised an eyebrow at her expectantly.

"My car broke down," she told him simply, crossing her arms defensively. His eyebrows rose further.

"You know what I meant, Rachel."

"I came to visit, that's all. I'm not here to stay."

"Right. Of course." He scoffed. "Where is she?" She looked at him confusedly. "Your car," he elaborated with a chuckle. Her mouth formed an "o" and he could have sworn she blushed, but was smart enough not to say anything about it (although he did want to). He followed after her, trying not to follow the sway of her hips too obviously with his eyes, all the while wracking his brain, trying to remember if anyone had told him that Rachel was coming here. No, he would have definitely remembered something like that. He wondered if Finn knew – probably not. He was surprised his mother didn't know, she'd always liked Rachel ("Now _she _was a nice Jewish girl, Noah, why'd you let her get away?" she'd tell him sometimes and he ignored it because Rachel hadn't been his in the first place, so why should she (and he) think of her as _the one that got away_?). If she was "coming to visit", wouldn't she have told everyone that she was coming? There were so many questions he could ask her, but he just wasn't sure if he'd get an answer. It struck her then how _different_ Rachel seemed. She definitely wasn't the same young girl who had dreams bigger than this whole fucking town. No, she was a young woman now. Whatever _that_ meant.

"I don't really know what's wrong with it. It just sort of started making noises and there was smoke," she was saying.

"Aha. Smoke and noises, sounds extremely serious," he told her, attempting to keep his face straight. She turned towards him, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, and he smirked at her.

"Noah Elijah Puckerman, are you making fun of me?"

"Maybe." She huffed and he rolled his eyes. Evidently she hadn't changed _that much_. Rachel Berry was still incapable of taking a joke. "Lighten up. S'fine. I'll get it done by this afternoon, you can pick it up then." She nodded curtly and turned around, obviously meaning to leave, but his hand sudden shot out, wrapping around her tiny wrist before he knew what he was doing. "Wait," he blurted out. She turned to him, brown eyes searching his questioningly. "Want to go out for a drink sometime. Tonight, maybe? Catch up?" he trailed off lamely, anticipating the rejection he'd hear as he watched her gaze flicker uncertainly. She opened his mouth and he braced himself.

"Sure," she says instead, and he almost stumbled over air out of pure shock. "When and where?"

They agreed over the local pub and then he watched her leave, wondering what the _hell_ he was doing. And then he reasoned with himself that they were just two friends catching up, and he'd probably never see her again after that. He gave her a week, two tops before she goes back to New York and forgets all about them again.

It was just how things went.

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><p>Seeing Noah Puckerman had <em>not<em> been a part of the plan. Not that Rachel had had much of a plan to begin with, but if she _had_, seeing Noah Puckerman? Definitely not a part of it. She hadn't heard much (or anything) about him since she'd left Lima all those years ago, had kind-of thought he'd have left by now. She knew he hadn't done very well academically (all those skipping-classes-by-feigning-illness were bound to catch up to him), but she'd figured he would find _some_ way to prove everyone wrong and show he wasn't going to be just another Lima loser. Not that she thought he _was_ a Lima loser since she supposed being a mechanic was a perfectly respectable job, but he'd always seemed so much…bigger than that, despite the fact that others thought differently. She'd _always_ believed in Noah Puckerman. He had talent, for one thing, and she, being quite talented herself, should know that he _did_ have what it takes to make it out of here.

And yet, he was still here.

Odd.

Perhaps that was part of the reason why she'd agreed to go out for drinks (although whether she would actually be drinking or not was questionable; while she had broken the vow she'd made in her junior year not to drink again after Brittany had thrown up on her on stage, she still wasn't much of a drinker). Maybe she just wanted to pick Noah's brain and find out why he was still here. It shouldn't be a big deal; she was twenty-two years old. She could handle a sort-of-not-really date with an old (flame) friend. They would chat about their lives now, maybe bring up some Glee stories, and then go on their separate ways and never see each other again.

It was just how things went.

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><p><strong>AN: **I'll try my best to update this fic at least once a week. I don't think I'll be able to write during the week because I'm always so "dfskfjklg" about college, but I do try to write during the week-end. Hopefully my chapters will start getting longer once I finally see where this story is headed ahah. Reviews are always nice (:


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